


Death In White Spats

by SkullSummonerMina



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Animal Death, Comedy, Drama, M/M, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24276265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkullSummonerMina/pseuds/SkullSummonerMina
Summary: Bustopher Jones has been murdered. It's up to the Marvellous Magical Mr. Mistoffelees to solve the crime with his (sometimes) lovely assistant The Rum Tum Tugger. But can they unravel the mystery before the killer strikes again? Or will they be the next victims? And what the heck is a winkle?
Relationships: Mr. Mistoffelees/Rum Tum Tugger
Comments: 45
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

The shop was empty, as it usually was, and the human owner didn't bother to look up from her book as The Rum Tum Tugger slid around the doorstop to get in. It was dark inside, and as always smelled of old. Old books, old furniture, old dead things propped up under glass with old price tags tied onto them. It was decidedly not Tugger's type of place, but he crawled down the wooden painted steps to the basement because it was the type of place he could find the cat he needed to find.

"Quaxo!" he said as he hit the last stair. "You in here?"

The basement always felt weird, like the night of the Jellicle Ball but off. Just off enough to be wrong. The dust in the air didn't help much either.

"On the table," came the reply. 

A butt wiggle and a leap and Rum Tum Tugger joined his friend on the tabletop. 

Quaxo didn't look up from an open book, inching it towards the table's edge. "What brings you to, what did you call it last time: 'Creepy ghost-filled firetrap filled with humans who think they're magical but are too dumb to realise the cat did it?'"

Tugger shrugged and eyed the book Quaxo was pawing. Whatever a Key of Solomon was it was going to be on the floor soon. While normally he would be all for a night of dumping things off tables, they didn't have the pleasure of free time. "Bustopher Jones has gone missing."

At that, Quaxo's pawing stopped, and he went so still that for a moment Tugger couldn't see him in the shadows.

There were rumours, because there were always rumours about those things, that Bustopher Jones was Quaxo's father. Parentage was a bit tricky with cats. You'd always know your mother, even if you didn't really want to, but fathers were based more on who said what. In Bustopher's case he'd never denied anything, and Quaxo's mother hadn't been able to say either way, so cats decided it was true. Maybe Quaxo believed it too, because he'd always acted odd around Jones. Everyone was weirdly deferential to the tubby tux but Quaxo'd go past differential into stressed when Jones would deign to visit the junkyard.

Bustopher Jones of course, usually had places with much better food to visit, so it didn't happen often.

Honestly, Tugger wasn't that worried about him. But— "Munkustrap put together a whole search party and no-one's found nothing. He's about to have a stroke."

Bustopher Jones was known for two things. Being huge and having a routine. If he didn't show up when he was scheduled to then something was wrong.

Quaxo pawed at his ear. "Last time, that was the Ball. I'm not sure if—"

"Sure, sure, but you can still try something." Quaxo's continued insistence that his amazing rescue of Old Deuteronomy had been some sort of yearly one off due to the increased powers of the Jellicle Moon sounded like hooey to Tugger, who'd seen the cat do more than enough magic without it, but he hadn't come here to argue. 

(As fun as that could be.)

Tugger gestured around the table with a flick of his ear. "Look into one of these crystal balls or whatever. Talk to a ghost—"

"I can't talk to ghosts."

"Have you tried?"

Thumping on the stairs cut off any possible retort as a younger human entered the basement. The shop owner's kitten had returned from school. "Ah! Mr. Mistoffelees, here you are. Keeping away the mice, eh? sewed you a new hat in Home Ec you know and--" Her face swivelled to see Tugger, and her voice went up several octaves. "And your fluffy friend is here, too!"

Yeagh. Tugger jumped back down to the safety of the ground. This one was going to be an attempted petter, she'd tried it before. "Okay, I'm outta here. You coming?"

With a chuckle at Tugger's disgust and quick duck to avoid the child's grasping hands himself, Quaxo leapt down to follow. "After you."

***

A walk with Quaxo was generally a fun time. Tugger would say something dumb on purpose. Quaxo would call him on it. Conversation would devolve until somehow someone (usually Tugger) got dared to tip over a flower pot. But today no matter how much Tugger mugged it wasn't enough to lift the mood.

Thankfully they foudn Munkustrap's search party quickly, just as the sun was going down. There were a few cats milling about on the periphery, but they all seemed on edge too, like the unease was a fog that'd gotten there before them. 

He spotted Cassandra coming towards them and gave her a wink. She just frowned deeper.

Okay fine, he had about a fifty/fifty on his charms working when it came to her. "I know you missed me, but I just stepped out to get our amazing and trusty cat-locator—"

"We found him."

Oh, well that meant Tugger had wasted a trip, but a found cat was a found cat and now everyone could stop being so glum. Besides, now he had Quaxo free for the whole night.

"They found him but—" She looked past Tugger towards Quaxo, her expression softening. "I'm sorry, but he was hit by a car. It must have been last night. He's dead."

Tugger backed closer to Quaxo but it was one of the many times he couldn't read the cat's expression.

Shit. A car. It wasn't uncommon, but it was always such a shitty way for a cat to go. Taken out by some dumb human in a metal box who wouldn't even stop and deal with what they'd done. Tugger's lip curled at the thought.

Bustopher Jones would have hated it.

"I should see him," said Quaxo.

Now that felt like a horrible idea. Tugger nudged himself against Quaxo's side, but Quaxo slipped by to run past. Tugger shrugged at Cassandra before racing off after him.

The closer they got the more Tugger was sure this was a bad idea, but when did that ever stop anyone? To hell with it. Tugger already knew what a dead cat looked like. Tugger veered off to where Munkustrap circled in front of bystanders. "Hey lot, terrible night, isn't it?"

Munkustrap's tail lashed about as he paced back and forth. "Tugger, now is not the time."

"Hey, don't be like that, I'm here to help if there's stuff to do." As proof he completely ignored the other cats present. Especially the ones that made eyes at him. 

Okay, so he maybe gave Bombalurina a quick up and down. 

His brother accepted the attempt for what it was with a shake of his head. "It's terrible. Bustopher Jones would have gone to the Heavyside Layer soon. Not this year, but eventually, and now, now we'll have to… I guess the river. It'll have to do."

Tugger bristled, but it was the best option. There was nowhere they could dig a hole deep enough that Pollicles and other creatures couldn't get at it. 

"Perhaps," suggested Bombalurina, looking similarly displeased at a wet grave, "one of the humans at his clubs would take his body? He was quite popular with the chefs."

Munkustrap waved that idea away. "No. He was a Jellicle, and Jellicles will send him off, one way or another." He glanced over to where the corpse lay, Quaxo still bent over it, still but for his whiping tail. "Tugger, I know Quaxo just got here, and he's going to take this hard, but the sooner we move Bustopher Jones the less likely others get curious about the scent. We've been too lucky already."

So all that was left was to get started then. As one of the larger cats, Tugger knew who was going to be tasked with carrying the body. "All right, I'll go get Quaxo, and you come up with something for him to do that's all distracty-like." 

He left his brother and the others to plan that one out. They'd probably have some sort of memorial. Quaxo wasn't the only one going to be upset about this. He wouldn't even be the only bereaved possible relative. Bustopher, for as little as he came around, had been popular when he did.

Maybe it was finally time to blow out his catnip stash. That always lifted up a party.

"Tugger," Quaxo said, cutting off Tugger's planning. He hadn't even looked behind him. Was Tugger loud or was it magic? Tugger decided on magic. "It wasn't a car."

"What?" said Tugger. He gave a queasy glance at the body. He was going to have carry that somehow. "But, uh, well he really looks like it."

"Bustopher Jones was hit by a car, yes. But he was already dead when it happened." Quaxo's voice lowered into a growl. "Bustopher Jones was murdered."


	2. Chapter 2

"Look at his throat," said Quaxo, his white paw now gooey with congealed blood as he pushed back Bustopher Jones' head to expose the ragged mess of a neck. "The car didn't do that. An animal did."

Tugger reminded himself that he'd seen dead cats before, this was fine. No big deal. He'd fucked up rats worse, then eaten them after.

But the rats had never attempted to teach him table manners as a kitten. 

Maybe it was a bad comparison.

"Someone tore out his throat long before the car hit him." Quaxo let the neck fall, then started cleaning his paw. "Maybe they left him on the road on purpose, to make it seem like an accident."

While normally Quaxo licking blood from his paw was hot, tonight it was just not going to get there.

Munkustrap swore. It was under his breath but Tugger heard. "Then that means… Right, we still need to deal with the body. We can't leave him here. Tugger, you're with me on that." 

There wasn't much change in plan. A depressing river trip. A big meeting back at the junkyard. But now instead of a memorial, Munkustrap was taking a head count.

"We need to know the status of every Jellicle. Cats stray from the junkyard for days all the time; Bustopher Jones' disappearance was only noticed because he missed his club rounds. We need to know where every Jellicle is in case this was an attack on the group." Munkustrap turned a quick circle, probably checking off everyone who was present. 

Tugger busied himself in cleaning off the smell of the river. He'd taken over the old oven, and although a few kittens had tried to join him he'd shoo'd them off. Tugger smelled like sewage and death and he wasn't letting anyone near until he'd fixed that.

Most of the regulars were around. Some said if they'd seen another cat that day, or if they hadn't. Demeter and Bombalurina helped out, mostly through crowd control so Munkusrap didn't get swarmed. 

That Bustopher Jones was dead would have gone over bad enough. That he was murdered?

The crowd was taking it poorly.

"But who would ever do such a thing?!"

"Are you sure?"

"Was it Macavity?!"

"We don't know yet!" Munkustrap shouted down the noise from atop the wrecked car. "First we need to know no-one else has been attacked, and then we'll find the culprit. I've already sent a messenger to Old Deuteronomy. So first of all—"

"Will Old Deuteronomy come?!" someone shouted.

As leader of the Jellicles, notifying their father was an obvious move, but if Munkustrap was right and this was part of some larger attack on the group, then that meant it was safer for Old Deuteronomy to stay wherever he was. The Jellicles of the Junkyard were not his only cats, as much as Tugger liked to not think about it. He left those kind of things to his brother.

"Old Deuteronomy will send instructions as soon as he knows of what's happened," replied Munkustrap. "Until then we need to remain calm."

Yeah so much for that, the yowling was back full force within second.

"But was it Macavity?!"

Okay, it was just getting repetitive.

Tugger went back to cleaning until a gray paw brazenly stuck itself into the oven door, followed shortly by Tumblebrutus' head. 

"So you're hiding in here, eh?" He hauled himself up and in, ignoring Tugger's shooing. "Everything's horrible, wanna bang?"

Tugger sprawled in such a way as to shove his foot in Tumblebrutus' nose. "Sorry, you'll have to settle for a lesser experience to ease your heart. Maybe later."

"There's never a later!" Tumblebrutus snorted.

"Life is tragedy." Tugger spread his toe beans to better shoo. "Where's Pouncival? Try him."

Tumblebrutus bit his foot.

Tugger jerked back, did a full cycle in the oven in a banging, clanging mess to try and swat, but Tumblebrutus was already halfway across the clearing.

The racket earned Tugger a glare from Munkustrap. It was a true talent, causing trouble while trying to mind his own business, Tugger had to admit.

Oh well, since he was already half way out of the oven, Tugger leaned on his arms to get a better look at who was there and who wasn't.

Most of the regulars were about. And—

There was Quaxo, curled up on a pile of human clothing beside Victoria. Victoria's relationship to the deceased Jones was the same as Quaxo's which also meant their assumed relationship was brother and sister. Like the rest of the gossip, they both took it as truth. They didn't spend as much time together lately, as Victoria had taken to live at a human house farther from the shop Quaxo called a base, but as kittens they'd all but been conjoined.

Tugger had kinda wondered if it'd evolve into something else, but it hadn't. Which was great. (Not that Tugger couldn't handle competition, but the better his odds the better his odds, right?)

Unfortunately Tugger had no magical powers and was unable to will Quaxo to look up so he could start making eyes at him. Thus Tugger reluctantly moved on in his observations. Munkustrap had a line up of cats now, each either asking about or telling him about someone that was missing. 

"I saw Jellylorum with Gus this morning, so unless…"

"I haven't seen Pouncival for a few nights, but he lately leaves so often…"

"But has anyone seen Sillabub since yesterday….?"

"I thought I heard Rumpelteazer and Mungojerrie's family yelling about them a few days ago but I haven't seen the two myself…

It went on and on and on and Tugger tried to both pay attention and forget the whole day at the same time. He didn't have anything useful to add and he knew that if he tried, if would only cause more problems for his brother, and while sometimes that was fun, these were the wrong kinds of problems at the wrong time. 

How the hell Munkustrap was going to not only tack down the whole tribe and look for the killer was beyond Tugger. Munkustrap hated delegating, even to Demeter and Bombalurina. Maybe he'd let them take over the head count, but that still left tracking down a murder based on, what? They didn't have anything to go on.

Wait a moment.

Tugger pushed himself up, motivated by his sudden brilliant idea. His original plans had been right all along, how could he have gotten so distracted by doom and gloom? 

Where was Quaxo?

Wait, where was Quaxo? 

Victoria, being bright white in a dark night, was easy enough to spot. But Quaxo was no longer by her side.

Tugger scanned, until, there, right at the boot of the car Munkustrap was using as his stage. Tugger lept from the oven to get close enough he could listen in. Quaxo was not much of a shouter.

"I…" At first Quaxo's voice was hesitant but he gained speed and force as he continued. "I would like to investigate. You need to protect everyone else in case this won't be the only attack, investigating would take too much time, and I know all of the clubs Bustopher Jones frequented, and can enter them, and—"

Munkustrap's tail whipped again. He probably knew Quaxo was right about both responsibilities stretching him too thin, but Munkustrap would never admit it. "No. Anyone who looks into the murder will become a target, I can't let you go alone into danger."

But that had a simple enough solution.

Tugger stretched and walked forward. "It's fine. I'll go with him."

***

Tugger bounced up and down in place, energy renewed at having something to do. "So, who do we grill first, Detective Mistoffelees?"

To get some privacy they'd left the junkyard for the roof of a nearby theatre. It was open, so any cat could wander by, but they'd see them first. And Tugger had only had to chase off seven pigeons. He's even caught one. 

He batted the carcass towards his brand new partner in crime investigation. "Are you sure you don't want any of this?" Pigeons didn't taste the best, but it had put up a fight and that meant it was worth eating. "You can have the liver, even."

"Thank you, but no." Quaxo rolled his eyes, but it was in a fond way. (Probably.) "And for your first question: Bustopher Jones was last seen at the Stage and Screen. My plan was to visit there tomorrow night and determine who may have seen him last."

"Was?" Tugger asked around his mouthful of pigeon liver.

Quaxo looked down at his feeding with that aloof and slightly judgmental look that for reasons Tugger had never managed to understand, really made him look hot. "There's no way a St. James Street club is going to let The Rum Tum Tugger inside."

"Thanks for the confidence in my celebrity." Tugger smiled then gulped the rest down in a single go. "But that's no problem, we'll just sneak. And I can sneak. I've snuck. You'll be amazing at my sneaking." 

They could squeeze into some walls together. Maybe Tugger could go in for a headbutt. Get some tumbling action.   
Maybe even more.

A wonderful night out.

"But we can't sneak in. I have to ask the cats there questions." Quaxo rubbed at his ears as he explained. "However, if you stayed outside—"

"Then it'd defeat the point of me coming at all, so that's out." 

"And that's why you'll stay here."

Tugger pounced, and while Quaxo was slippery, when Tugger really wanted to do something, no-one could stop him. Also being about twice Quaxo's size helped. 

"What are you doing." Quaxo demanded, breathing heavily underneath him. 

Tugger lined up their noses. "If your idea's right, and it probably is, then telling everyone that you're looking for the murderer means the murderer is going to go right back after you. And if you think I'm letting you run off alone to get killed then you're not nearly as brilliant as I've told everyone."

"You do tend to over exaggerate." Quaxo's breathing slowed a little. Their noses were almost touching now. "Fine, I won't go off alone. But if the murderer will be after me then they'd also come after you."

"Then it makes sense to use the buddy system!" Tugger closed the gap to boop Quaxo's nose. "Also, you smell amazing."

Being half Rum Tum Tugger's size also meant Quaxo was perfectly lined up to kick Tugger in the stomach. "You smell like the river."

Tugger rolled, gasping, but also laughing. "I don't need to worry about a murderer, you're going to get me first."

Quaxo made a disgusted noise then paced in place, tail lashing the air. "This is dangerous, if anything were to happen to you, and worse, happened because you decided to follow me…"

The concern was touching if unnecessary. Still, Quaxo was already mourning one cat. As aloof as he could seem, it made sense he'd be rattled. Rattled enough to forget one very important point. 

Tugger leaned on a paw, fluffed his mane, and tried to look as confident and un-murderable as possible. "You know the more you tell me not to come along, the more I'm going to do it anyway, right?"

Quaxo froze, almost making Tugger laugh, then he said, flat: "Yes you're absolutely right. Rum Tum Tugger, you have to come help me investigate a brutal murder and possibly get yourself killed in the process. I absolutely insist upon you doing so."

"Great!" Tugger leapt to his feet, smile widening as Quaxo's frown increased. "Now that's settled let's get going. Firstly, if pigeon is out then I'm thinking fish. The boats are just about to start unloading so we'll have our pick. Then sleep because who's going to solve a murder on no sleep? After that you'll figure the rest of the day out, I'm sure."

Maybe Quaxo's frown started to turn up at that rambling mess, but with Quaxo it was hard to tell. So Tugger just assumed it did.


	3. Chapter 3

They were back at the shop's basement. It had closed for business hours ago. The owner and her daughter had left for the human's incredibly long sleep. Too bad for them, because they were going to miss seeing some actual magic. 

"Does this spell really need me to be surrounded by thirteen drinking glasses of water?" asked Tugger, standing on the table.

Quaxo did not look up from the book. "Maybe."

Tugger glared at the one closest to his head. It stood there so precarious. So tempting. "I'm going to tip them."

"But what if they are necessary and you ruin the spell?" replied Quaxo, still not looking up. "What then?"

Tugger fluffed his mane. "I barge into the club looking like fabulous self and they just have to deal with it."

Yet still Quaxo ignored him, even when it might be the last time he looked so magnificent. "I'm sure you'll look fine."

"You said I might turn into a queen!"

"There's a fifty/fifty chance, and it would only be an illusion."

"That's not the point!"

"You'll turn back at midnight."

His beautiful spots. His huge paws. His fluffy ears… 

What if Quaxo turned him into one of those weird furless cats with hanging skin? The ones that looked old even as kittens? What then? "That's hours of not being my authentic gorgeous self. What if you forget how attractive I am?"

"I'm sure you'll manage to remind me." Quaxo knocked the book off the table. "Aright, let's start. Spin around fifteen times then shut your eyes. Counter clockwise."

Ugh, what was it with Quaxo and spinning? 

Tugger started turning. "If this doesn't work." Another spin. "I'm going to throw up for nothing." Another.

"Try to keep your head forward," Quaxo almost sounded gentle then, but Tugger just focused on not puking all over the glasses.

Turn turn turn. He started to lose count.

"Last one!" Quaxo called out.

Tugger wobbled, closed his eyes and—

Nothing.

Nothing?

Quaxo made a very interesting noise. 

"What?!" Tugger cried, eyes still closed. "How bad is it? Do I have fur?! I'd better have fur, Quaxo!"

Quaxo's tone was too even. "You have an amazingly vast amount of fur."

Tugger opened one eye to see that Quaxo had nosed a human's pocket mirror into the circle. It was a poor angle, but yes, he had fur. Even more fur than normal, all of it as brightly white as Victoria. "You know, if you wanted me to not attract attention—"

"I told you, I can't control what it makes you look like." There was a suspicious pause. "Remember that. It's important."

Tugger twirled, but not counter clockwise. Lifted a back leg. Oh no. Oh no! "Why am I a girl?!"

Quaxo was now studiously studying a cup of water. "I said it was a fifty/fifty chance and it's only for a night."

Tugger bent down then poked the offendingly empty crotch area. He could feel his balls, but not see them. What the hell? They were there and not there. Like the mythical Box Cat. For the first time ever, Quaxo's magic unnerved him. Just a teeny bit.

Quaxo tipped over a glass, causing Tugger to jump as the cold water hit his paws. He landed in a scramble, slipped, tumbled, righted himself then skittered off the table as more glasses spilled. "Hey! Hey!"

"It'll wear off in four hours, Tugger." Quaxo leapt down beside him, but just outside of puddle range. "I have never understood your attachment to your balls."

"That's because you were neutered at what, four months? You never had any!"

Quaxo's ears jerked back. "And there's nothing wrong with that!"

The divide between neutered and unneutered cats was an unspoken one, but it was impossible for such a tension to not exist. It didn't help that the line usually split along who had a human home and who did not, too. Tugger sometimes got pegged on the wrong side of that one. He wore a collar because it looked cool, not because some family fed him kibble and called him 'James'. (This explanation was the most fun when given in front of Munkustrap.)

However, as much as Tugger enjoyed poking others, even he knew it was possible to go too far, and the ears were a warning. Complaining about his own disappearing balls was fun, but making Quaxo actually mad? Not fun.  
So Tugger attempted to diffuse the situation by flicking water at Quaxo's face.

Half a cup magically flew through the air back at him.

They started for the club only after the shop owner came down to investigate the ruckus.

*

Quaxo got them to the Stage and Screen with little fuss, and Tugger tried to stay silent as instructed (he really did) but every minute that passed the urge to tip something over grew. Being quiet because he was told to? The horror. The insanity. Stewing about it occupied him long enough for them to get in the door.

Then an orange and white cat, strolled up to look them over with clear distain. Then she said, to Quaxo, completely ignoring Tugger. "Quaxo, so interesting to see you here with a queen on your arm."

And that was about all Tugger could take. 

Quaxo barely got out: "Yes this is Elizabeth, she's new in the city--" before Tugger dramatically lifted a paw to his brow.

"It is so tragic!" He floofed his mane and sighed. "Although I was raised from a kitten in luxury, I was cruelly abandoned by my terrible, awful human owners! Flung from their car in the dread of night like garbage! But my dear, wonderful Quaxo, my saviour, has graciously inducted me into the Jellicles and given me a new home!" He leaned upon Quaxo's side as if in a fainting spell.

Quaxo shoved him. "She's still very traumatized. Elizabeth, this is Noilly Prat."

"Hmm," replied Noilly Prat.

Quaxo reached towards his ear then stopped himself short. "I thought perhaps good food would help her recovery, and winkles are in season."

Noilly Prat eyed the door guard. "Hmmmmm."

"And," Quaxo continued, as if the plan wasn't going square, "I wished to ask after Bustopher Jones, he might have advice on any respectable homes Elizabeth would be able to stay in."

At that Noilly Prat paused. "Ah, Bustopher Jones? He missed last night's dinner. If he doesn't show today why, someone may have to ring up Scotland Yard. That cat never misses his routine." She glanced one last time at the door guard then conceded. "I suppose it would be sensible for you to wait for him here. At one of the back tables."

So, either she didn't know what happened, or she was lying. Either way she was an asshole. An informative exchange.

"I do love winkles," Tugger said, having no idea what a winkle actually was. He'd probably hate them.

The cats had set up their own mockery of a club in the attic of the human's building. The tables were boxes with 'borrowed' linen. There were some fairy lights for ambiance. Music from the proceedings below came up through a vent in the ground. Decorations were more scavenged scrapes: postcards pined as if they were important works of art, dried out flowers in human wine glasses. Something that might have been the dance floor was marked out with ribbon and paint. The whole thing was ridiculously pretentious. Tugger hung out in human's cast-offs too and he didn't pretend he was fancy.

The back table was quite far back. And the waiters walked right past them.

"So how do we get food?" Tugger asked, not looking forward to it.

"We hope they stop ignoring us," Quaxo replied.

"Well I can fix that easy enough."

There was a bit of fighting under the table afterwards. 

"Elizabeth. Dear," Quaxo said, gripping the tabletop to keep it steady, and breathing a bit heavily. "I'm going to go ask if anyone has seen Bustopher Jones."

Tugger huffed. Using zappy magic was cheating even if it was really cool. "I will find the litter box." And then he would kick half of their probably exceedingly fancy grit all over the floor as an expression of his dissatisfaction at the night.

He did some exploring on the way back and when he returned Quaxo was already there, pawing at the tablecloth. "No one's seen Bustopher since the night he went missing and I hate everyone in this room."

"Then it's time to plan 'Tugger found a grate we can use to get into the walls' then, yeah?" Tugger nodded along to his own words. He was quite rightly proud of himself for this. "Yeah?"

The vent was unfortunately dusty, which was not going to look good on Tugger's current white fur. But, fortunately, it was a tight fit so he had ample excuse to squeeze up against Quaxo every time they stopped to eavesdrop.

"Ugh," said some fat cat, nibbling on a wrinkled grey mass. "The food here has gone to the dogs, Harold."

"You're so right my dear," the other cat replied. "Why this establishment just isn't like it was in Victoria's day."

Then they sniffed and kept eating. After a few minutes of watching, Tugger and Quaxo gave up and moved on.  
"Sooo," Tugger drew the word out in a whisper. "I'm guessing he doesn't mean the cute little kitten?"

"She was a human queen," Quaxo whispered. 

"He cares about some human broad why?" Tugger tried to squish himself further up the vent beside Quaxo, but was blocked by a whipping tail.

"No, she was The Queen." Quaxo more hissed than whispered this time. "The."

"Oh." Tugger reluctantly gave up. "Still don't get it."

Quaxo shushed him again as they stopped over another table. "These two were the most suspicious earlier."

One of them was the orange and white cat who had seen them at the door.

And, just their luck, they were the current topic of conversation.

"—I suppose it is reasonable for the boy to be looking for Bustopher here, but that cat he was with, she's so crass," said whatever her name had been, No Something.

"Well," replied a blue Persian with a monocle scrunched in one eye, "She is an aspiring Jellicle. I'm sure she'll fit in wonderfully."

"Wow," whispered Tugger. "I hope these two did it so I can bite them."  
Quaxo shushed him.

"Oh Murad," his companion (oh right, her name had been Noilly Prat, so fitting) replied. "It is a nice surprise to see him taking an interest in the fairer sex. Bustopher was so certain he would continue to waste his time with that, what was it? The Rum Tum Tugger?" 

Murad sniffed. "Who even calls themselves 'The'? Commoners, that's who."

Wow there was some real stone cold gossiping going on down there, and all Tugger could do was watch.  
Sure, they were there for a greater purpose than defending Tugger's name choices, but the only cats that could talk shit about Tugger and not get a smack were his older brother (and even then Tugger sometimes went for it) and Quaxo (and he was usually just joshing. Probably. Tugger preferred to think so.)

But at least they thought he and Quaxo had a thing. He'd give them half points for that one. They then lost those points for disapproving, but—

Tugger gave up. These guys were just dicks.

"The whole family has no pedigree," said Noilly Prat. "And the rumours…"

And they didn't even have the decency to natter about what he and Quaxo needed to know!

"The younger one looks nothing like Old," and he said the title with a chuckle, "Deutoronamy. But, you know who he does resemble?" He leaned forward, over his companion's salmon pate. "Why he's the spitting image of a younger Mac—"

Wait what the hell?

"Don't say that name!" Noilly Prat pressed her paw to Murad's lips.

Was this really the kind of shit cats talked about when they were in their fancy exclusive clubs? And how many cats were saying this? If enough cats said something, then--

Undeterred, Murad smiled around her claws. "Well. Whoever the father, that youngest truly takes after the mother in personality, doesn't he?"

There was a low growl, and it took Quaxo bumping into his side for Tugger to realise it was coming from himself.

"Oh yes," replied Noilly Prat, joining him in a grin. "From what I've heard of his escapades, he certainly takes after his mother in being a whore."

The salmon pate in front of him exploded.

Tugger jerked back from the grate to look at Quaxo. Maybe he looked angry. In the dark it was even harder to tell than normal. 

But Tugger was going to say he looked angry.

With a sniff Quaxo turned from the grate, away from Tugger. "We won't learn anything from idiots. Let's go."

Tugger lasted about half a minute of walking. "So."

"They're stuffed up morons, they don't know anything."

"Well I know that." Tugger scooted as close as he could without being whipped in the face by tail. "The explosion was cool."

"It wasn't intentional." Whip. Whip. It was becoming hypnotic. A challenge almost.

"It's the thought that counts." Nuts to it. Tugger charged forward, head-butting Quaxo at the base of the tail. They both went sprawling, thumping into the side of the vent with a thud.

Quaxo said something or other, maybe he kinda laughed as he tried to contort and swat Tugger back. It was almost like a proper night out again.

But, it seemed the vent system was multi-level. 

And they were on the top floor. 

And there was a hole plunging down to the rest.

Oops.

Tugger landed on his feet (mostly.)

Quaxo landed on him.

"That's an interesting sound you made there." Quaxo jumped off then looked back, now maybe a bit concerned at Tugger's lack of retort. "Are you alright?"

Tugger managed through clenched teeth because ow: "Perfect landing."

"Oh, good."

The room they'd fallen into was so dark even Tugger had trouble seeing. The floor was stone and dusty. From above them came the loud noises of the kitchen. There were boxes, crates, and the smells indicated food. Probably storage then. Which meant there'd be stairs out, but that those stairs would lead to a bunch of humans with knives and experience in cooking animals. Tugger decided to look for a window.

"Are you really ok?" Quaxo asked from the shadows.

"Totally fine" Tugger lied.

"You're limping." 

"I am walking sexily."

"Perhaps limping sexily."

"As long as you agree it's sexily," Tugger replied, "I'll take it." 

Quaxo laughed at that, which was almost as good as if he'd actually agreed with Tugger. While Quaxo's resistance to his charms was admittedly attractive in its own right, Tugger did sometimes worry he was chasing after nothing. He needed some scraps here.

"You do make this investigation more exciting." Quaxo laughed again, then stopped so suddenly that Tugger almost toppled into him. "Is that horrible?"

"Horrible? What's horrible? Me being exciting? Because I'm okay with being exciting."

Quaxo shook his head and lashed his tail. Then his voice was all back to business. "Nevermind. Let's find a way out of this. Maybe we can steal some winkles on the way out; Victoria likes them."

"Yeah, okay." It was clear Tugger had missed something. But hell if he knew what. At least he'd find out what a winkle was. 

His smelled something wrong at the same time Quaxo's fur went up. The place was full of old meat (for some reason human seemed to prefer it that way) but this--

This was bad. As they closed in on the dark corner where the shadows bent into the shape of a cat, it was only a question of who they were going to find.

Quaxo magicked up a light, revealing creamy fur, brown stripes, and a tell-tale patch on one eye that made Tugger happy he hadn't gotten dinner.

"Pouncival?" Tugger still asked, but it was obvious the cat wasn't going to be able to answer. 

After an audible swallow, Quaxo placed his paw on the body to roll it over. Unlike Jones, whose wound had been disguised by bulk and the damage from the car, Pouncival's cause of death was obvious. Whoever had attacked him, it had been so violent the poor bastard's head was barely attached. Even Quaxo jumped back and swore when it wobbled. 

It had been stuck to the floor by dried guck. This wasn't a fresh kill.

Damnit, how long had he been down here? How long and they hadn't even known? Tugger may not have been besties with Jones, but he knew Pouncival. They'd fucked around and filled many a night with stupid trouble. And Tugger hadn't even thought he might have been down here, like this--

"Tugger," Quaxo cut into his thoughts. "We have to leave. Now! Even if it's through the kitchen we--"

That was when the door opened. The sudden light, much brighter than Quaxo's, blinded Tugger for a moment, which he was going to use as an excuse for the club's door cat getting a drop on him.


	4. Chapter 4

Rum Tum Tugger had managed to halfway claw a hole in the wall by the time the closet door was opened. 

Munkustrap looked, well he looked really damn angry, and Tugger could only hope most of that was directed at the club cats and not him.

One of them, a guard (Tugger still hadn't caught her name but had sure caught her on the nose) flanked Munkustrap as they came inside. She had a little bandage on her snout. "Right, get them out of here." 

Munkustrap just gestured with his head. This was not a good sign.

They'd hit the hallways when Tugger attempted to explain. "We didn't actually do anything wrong—"

"They said you tried to take out one of the guards!" Munkustrap spat back.

"Okay but she came at me first," said Tugger. "Quaxo, back me up here. She had claws out."

Quaxo, who had spent their internment sullenly squished in the corner after refusing to use magic to set the door on fire, piped up, "She did pounce first—"

Munkustrap hissed them quiet, and for once it worked.

At the exit, Jellylorum was surrounded by outraged fat cats, most of whom Tugger unfortunately recognized from earlier in the night. 

"There they are!" one of them shouted. Oh, it was that Prat cat. "Take them and get out!"

"We will," said Munkustrap. "But before that, about the body—"

"And him!" The last word was emphasized with particular vehemence. "This Rum Tum Tugger not only injured our door guard, but had the audacity to sneak into this establishment through the use of magic." This word was even more filled with disgust than his pronoun had been, and while Tugger was used to being insulted, this was technically really an insult to Quaxo, so Tugger's mane stuck up. 

Munkustrap however, was having none of it. His shoved his butt in front of Tugger's face to stop any interruptions. "Tugger will be suitably punished for the trouble he's caused. I assure you. But about Pouncival's body—"

"We've already disposed of that."

Jellylorum filled the silence that followed. Her voice was tight, at the tone that, in Tugger's kittenhood, had meant someone (probably him) was in for a long time out. "They informed me that Pouncival's body has already been taken with the morning's garbage." 

*

"I can't believe those—" Munkustrap cut himself off before he swore in front of Jellylorum. (Tugger knew his brother didn't care if he or Quaxo heard. Munkustrap had proved that time and time again.) "Did anyone tell them that Bustopher's--?"

"I did," said Jellylorum. "They were too busy being angry about Tugger and Quaxo sneaking in for it to truly sink in, I think." She stopped suddenly. "At least I hope so. I can't believe—I know they're upset at you two for sneaking about but to throw out poor Pouncival. What horrid cats!"

In Tugger's mind, he didn’t really see the difference between this and him having to carry Pouncival down to the river. Either way it sucked. It sucked hard enough that thinking about it made Tugger's stomach hurt, but hell if he was going to say that out loud. So he just examined his mane.

"It's the principal of it, Tugger!" She saw right through him just as easily as she had when he was a kitten hiding a mouse in her den. "It's about respect. Those cats might put on airs, but if I was their mother why—! Ugh, the way they talked."

Munkustrap put an arm around her. 

"It was a pretty sad dance floor, if that helps. Ours is much better," Tugger said, looking at the pavement.

When Tugger glanced up, Jellylorum was now sandwiched by Munkustrap and Quaxo. "I'm so sorry the two of you had to find Pouncival like that. I didn't see what happened to Bustopher Jones, but I heard, and Pouncival was so young." She shook her head. "He was still just a kitten to me."

"Whoever did this will be found, Jellylorum," said Munkustrap, going back into leader mode. "Tugger, look, I'm not really mad at you for sneaking in there in disguise. Actually, I'm a little mad, but I understand why you did it, and clearly you're on the right track."

Munkustrap turned his attention to Quaxo. "This isn't an isolated incident anymore. Whoever is behind this needs to be stopped. Now. Keep investigating, but be careful. Stick together."

Quaxo scratched at his ears, still leaning into Jellylorum's side. "Of course." He didn't sound too happy about it.

Once they got to the junkyard they split up, Jellylorum and Munkustrap to do the hard task of telling the others about Pouncival, Tugger and Quaxo to stare awkwardly at the oven.

"So," Tugger eventually said, because if anyone could disrupt an awkward silence it was him. "Who do we grill next?"

Quaxo slunk to the ground, looking miserable. "I have absolutely no idea." After a moment he added: "That was a disaster."

Tugger, who was never one to agree easily, replied: "It could have gone worse."

Quaxo glared up through his paws. "How?!"

Tugger shrugged. "Arson?"

"Arson by who?!"

"I don't know, someone?"

Quaxo gave up and curled into a little ball. "A disaster."

Tugger sat down beside Quaxo to wait it out. Eventually he got bored. Besides, he had a question. "Why didn't you just escape the closet with magic? I know you've gotten out of places like that before."

Quaxo's ear twitched. "I would have had to leave you behind. Not that I helped much in the end." 

"Eh, it's fine." Quaxo had all but been invisible during the chew-out, this was normal. Trouble just slid off his back like water on a duck. 

Quaxo jumped up suddenly. "It's not fine! The entire plan went wrong, it was all my fault, and I couldn’t even take responsibility for it! And now you aren't even mad about that?!" He started to circle, tail whipping about. "Tugger, I think is should be obvious I have no idea what I'm doing. We're still no closer to finding the murder, and now there's two dead. Two, Tugger!"

"Then we keep looking," Tugger replied. "Pouncival just means we need to do this more, not give up. Cats were freaking out before but now it's going to turn into real panic. Munkustrap's going to have his paws full. So don't change your mind now. We can figure this."

He attempted to go in for a nose boop. A comforting nose boop. 

Surprisingly, Quaxo only turned his head a little, so Tugger got him on the snout.

So he went for a lick but that was apparently a hair too far.

"Can you think of anyone who would have a motive?" Quaxo tilted his head. "I can't. We didn't always get along, but I don't remember anyone disliking Pouncival."

But Tugger was just as blank there. Sometimes Pouncival could be a bit of a shit, but so could Tugger, and no one had tried to kill him yet. "Nope. But I do know who we should ask first."

*

Tumblebrutus, like Tugger, didn't have a human house as a base. His main home, as of last winter, was an abandoned van just close enough to the junkyard that it might have been part of it. A few cats had taken over, Pouncival among them. They'd dragged some blankets in. Made it nice and cozy. Someone had even found a fake mouse to dangle from the dashboard mirror. 

Tugger had crashed many a party there. Good times.

He thumped the side door. "Hey, it's me. Open up!"

From the driver's side window Etcetera poked her head out. "Ah, The Rum Tum Tugger!"

Tugger gave her a wink. "Is Tumblebrutus in?"

"Really? You're not here for me? Again?" She pouted, then rolled her eyes, before dramatically lifting a paw to her brow. "Fine, I see how it is! I'm just a doorman!" 

Then she leaned out of the window further and her expression 180'd back into cheerfulness. "Oh hi, Quaxo. What's up?"

"Hello," Quaxo said, clearly judging all of them. "We have bad news, unfortunately."

"Oh." She scrunched back down so her face was only just above the window's lip. "I heard about Jones. That's awful. Is Victoria okay? Tell her she can always come by when she wants, you know! I barely see her anymore!" 

Now that he had been discarded and ignored, Tugger decided to go round the back and open the dang van himself. As he turned the corner he saw Tumblebrutus slinking out the back window.

"Oh, hi Tugger," said Tumblebrutus.

"Sneaking out on me?" Tugger asked, fluffing out his mane. "Why just yesterday you were trying to get me alone and now you won't see me? You're stealing my shtick." 

Which may not have been the best way to introduce himself when he was there to break a cat's best friend dying, but Tugger would be the first to admit that planning social interactions out in advance was not his strong point.

"Are you here for a reason?" Tumblebrutus asked.

Okay, yeah, this was uncomfortable now. Tugger shifted from foot to foot. "Uh, actually, it's about Pouncival—"

Luckily (unluckily?) he was spared saying it out loud by Etcetera hurling herself at him. "Tugger, tell me it's not true and Quaxo is just being a lying jerk! Tell me Pounce isn't dead!"

"Pouncival is dead?" Tumblebrutus said the words slowly, like something was stuck in his mouth.

Tugger tried to shake Etcetera off but she had a death grip. Her weight was totally what was making him want to sink into the ground. Not guilt. Totally. "Uh, yeah. We found him at the Stage and Screen." He tried again to the same success. "Sorry."

Quaxo was no where to be seen. 

Tugger tried tilting himself so Etcetera would have to deal with gravity. "Do you guys know uh, anyone that might have been pissed at him?"

"Everyone liked Pounce," Etcetera mumbled, miserable, into Tugger's back. "Why would anyone hurt him?"

"Everyone liked Bustopher Jones, too," said Tumblebrutus. He still looked like he was about to bolt. "I hadn't see Pouncival in a day or two. I don't know why he'd be at the Stage and Screen."

There was mumbling from Tugger's back, but it took feeling the damp spot for him to realize Etcetera was crying.  
Tugger tried to reach a paw back but it was awkward. Literally and figuratively. "Hey, look, it's okay."

"It's not okay!" she said into his back. "None of this is okay!"

"Me and Quaxo are going to find out who did this," said Tugger, because he really didn't have anything else that could be comforting. She was right. "And then I'll kick their ass. Promise!"

Etcetera released her grip, just a little. "You better!" Her voice was still sniffley. "Tumble, if anyone knows anything it'd be you, right? You've got to know something that can help."

Tumblebrutus pawed at the ground for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe. Pounce had been going out a lot at night alone. But that's not weird. Everyone does that."

"But didn't he tell you were he went?" asked Etcetera, and gosh she was way better that this questioning thing than Tugger. He was going to leave her to it. "Why would he be at the Stage and Screen? They'd never let any of us in a place like that."

"He was in the basement," Tugger added.

"The basement!" said Etcetera. Then: "Do you think he was nicking something? Rumpleteazer does it sometimes with Mungo. Brought us winkles last year! You had some too, Tumble, remember?"

Could that have been it? Pouncival had snuck in to steal food, gotten caught, then killed by someone? But then why had the body been left there? The human cooks wouldn't have done that, and the club cats or their guards would have thrown him in the trash like they had that morning.

"But how would that connect to Bustopher Jones?" Oh, there was Quaxo, crouching up on the van's roof.

Tugger had to lean even further back to get a good view. "Maybe he saw too much?"

"That doesn't make any sense," said Tumblebrutus.

"It doesn't?" asked Quaxo.

"No, Pouncival—" Tumblebrutus scratched at the van's bumper. "It doesn't!"

Etcetera hmm'd into Tugger's back, then attempted to climb right up onto his head. While she was smaller than him, she wasn't that small, and so he fell forward to try and stop his neck from being broken. "You know, I think Rumpleteazer said the winkles we got were leftovers. They had like, a buyer? They were stealing on commission. Not just for fun. Maybe Pounce was too?"

"Some sort of winkle-related crime ring?" Tugger asked from the dirt.

"But what would Bustopher Jones have to do with something like that?" interrupted Tumblebrutus. "Jones was respectable. He'd never get involved in crime. You do that and you're dealing with Macavity! And while Mungojerrie might've--"

"Mungojerrie doesn't work for Macavity!" said Etcetera. 

"Everyone says he does!" retorted Tumblebrutus.

This made Etcetera mad enough that her claws came out. Into Tugger's back. Ow. "That doesn't make it true!"

"Where are Rumpleteazer and Mungojerrie?" Quaxo asked, still just watching Tugger suffer from his perch on the van. "It sounds like they're who we should question next."

"Last I heard they broke something important and were staying away from their house," said Tumblebrutus with a shake of his head. "I haven't seen them in days." 

"Oh!" pipped up Etcetera, claws now retracted. "I know where they are! Rumpleteazer said they were heading out to The Big Garden until the heat was off. Don't know where that is, but she mentioned hitching a ride with Skimbleshanks. Ask him!"

The fur on Tumblebrutus' back was up now. "You don't really think-- They wouldn't have anything to do with this, would they? Sure sometimes they work for Macavity but murder?" He trailed off at that, looking lost in thought as he walked a half circle on the mat, ripping it as he went. "It was probably Macavity. And there's no way we can stop him so—"

So there'd be jack they could do about it all then. It was possible they'd find out the culprit but have no way to get justice. It would be just another tick on the long list of Macavity's un-answered for crimes.

So Tugger shrugged the worries off. He also finally shrugged Etcetera off. "We'll deal with that if it happens. Time to ride the rails!" 

*

After a quick nap they made tracks for nearest train station. They found the right train quickly with Skimbleshanks' help. He even got them a nice empty car to spend the trip in.

"I'll ride along for this one, and pop back in to tell you went we're at the right station," Skimbleshanks said. He hesitated for moment at the door with a serious expression. He'd taken the news about Bustopher Jones and Pouncival well enough, but it looked like maybe he was going to say something more about it. Then he shook it off. "Lock the door behind me. Might be by with tea in the middle. Depends on how the route goes. If I do I'll knock three times."

"Sure," said Tugger. "Okay."

Quaxo was already doing circles on the seat when Tugger jumped to join him. "He seems off."

"There's a serial killer running around." Quaxo yawned. Seemed he was going to spend the trip on more napping. "And while we're on his train we're under his protection."

That made sense. Both parts. Two cats dead with no apparent connection. Who knew if there'd be a third? And as Quaxo had argued, the both of them, since they were sticking their noses in places, made good targets.

Also, naps were just great. And while Tugger did not go in for a cuddle (he did not cuddle) he did manage to lay in such as way so that his head smushed into Quaxo's back. Because the train was cold. Skimbleshanks really needed to do something about that.

A while later Tugger woke to knocking. Nice, time to reject some tea. He leapt off the seat then clawed at the door knob. He had it half open before Quaxo was awake enough to yell at him to stop.

But by that point the rats were already on him.


	5. Chapter 5

The rats were huge, black with stripes of red, really angry, and also huge. They poured from the doorway in a mass of claws and teeth. Tugger's thick mane was the only thing that kept them from biting his throat out. But their maws instead caught fluff so he was able to shake most of them off. One hit the wall with a snap and fell limp, the others rallied for another try. Tugger got another one with a foot, still shaking the ones on his mane.

Tugger had fought rats before. They weren’t so bad, individually. It was just that once they bit you it was over. The bastards could chomp through bone. If he kept moving he could probably keep them—

And one got him on the side. A glance, not a bone bite, but there was maybe a chunk of his ass missing. He gave it a kick and got it off but ow. He needed that blood.

"Tugger!"

Ow.

He had enopugh blood left in his head to give one of the mane-huggers in his jaws a quick snapped neck when he smelled burning. The other rats in his mane fell away. "Hey!"

The other rats were suspiciously still.

"Whahappen?" Tugger asked around the dead rat. Although from the slightly charred rats and weird magicky smell the answer was pretty clear. Quaxo had almost certainly just saved his ass. His wonderful, shapely ass.

"You idiot!" was maybe what Quaxo said before shoving Tugger over and investigating the gash on his side. His wonderful, shapely side.

(Tugger may have been in shock. Just a little.)

Tugger spat out the rat to lightly bat his newest assailant. Lightly, because he didn't want Quaxo to get off. This was possibly the highlight of his day. Saved by Quaxo and hugged by him? Amazing. Wonderful. Various other positive words. "I am being attacked. You burned my mane and are now assaulting me."

"You're lucky you aren't dead." Quaxo emphasised the sentiment with a bat to Tugger's flank. 

Spanking. He'd always suspected Quaxo was kinky. 

"You said that out loud." 

"Whoops."

Quaxo burried his head into the fur. "Shut up and let me fix this."

There was some shoving about of his fur. It didn't feel like it was bleeding much anymore. Probably. Kinda wet but-- "Are you casting magical healing spells down there?"

Quaxo backed away, his tongue sticking out for a second before he spoke. "I did that already to keep you from bleeding out. I'm just licking the wound now. Rats have horrible diseases."

"Oh," replied Tugger. "That's even better, carry on."

"You're lucky." Quaxo sniffed, then moved his head to rest under Tugger's mane. "You were very, very lucky."

Then he just stayed there. Tugger could feel Quaxo's breathing against his chest. 

Tugger inched a paw closer to Quaxo's shoulder. Closer. Closer. Almost a hug now. Just a bit closer. He was The Rum Tum Tugger. He could pull this off.

Quaxo pulled away just as Tugger was about to go past the hover-hand zone. "You're covered in blood. Better use the sink before Skimbleshanks gets here."

The 'sink' was a horrible (some called it 'funny' Tugger called it 'horrible') basin in the wall. "But it's loud. And cold." 

He was eventually (roughly) cajoled up and on the thing. At least Quaxo got the water to somehow be above freezing. Barely.

"It's cold," Tugger complained. "You tongue wasn't. Can we go back to tongue?"

"No," said Quaxo. "Tongue is in the past now."

So Tugger complained some more before bringing up his next point. "The rats went for my neck first, you think they're the ones who got Jones and Pouncival?"

"Maybe." Quaxo finally turned off the tap but then reached for the blowdryer. Tugger had to leap out of the way before he was hit with air.

"Hey!" Tugger said from the safety of the seats. He glared down at the rat bodies. Were they big enough to cause the sort of wounds Pouncival and Jones had? Maybe. If it weren’t for his glorious mane Tugger might have found out the hard way. 

But if it had been rats, rats like these, then that meant Macavity, didn’t it? Tugger couldn't think of any other cat that had black and red rat minions to toss around. 

And then what were they going to do? Go after Macavity for vengeance? 

Quaxo soon joined Tugger, both on the seat and in studying the dead rats. "I doubt us being attacked is a coincidence." He shook his head. "This is what I was worried about. I told you..."

There was more knocking at the door. But this time Tugger waited to make sure it happened three times.

*

Skimbleshanks had a fit at the rats.

"On my train?!" he said, circling the cabin, his tail whipping from side to side. "When I checked every car?!" 

"If they were sent by Macavity then he likely used magic to teleport them on board." Quaxo, who had always gotten on with the railway cat, tried to calm him down. "We should have been more careful with the door."

Tugger fluffed his mane and made sure his wound was up against the seat where Skimble couldn't see it. "Maybe."

"Yes, I suppose. Then again if they can materialize on a moving train what good would a door do?" He shook his head and huffed. "Well, anywho." 

Skimbleshanks went back out the door to push in a little cart. "Would you like some tea?"

"Do you have coffee?" Tugger asked.

Skimbleshanks grinned. "Actually, yes."

"Then I will have milk."

Beside him Quaxo shook his head. "Tea please. Strong. Thank you, Skimbleshanks."

They dumped the rat bodies out the window. Any animal that came from Macavity was not worth a meal. Besides, Skimbleshanks had brought cookies. Tugger took spent of the last leg of the trip in choosing one before licking it and deciding it wasn't very good.

The sun was high when they reached their station. With a few directions Tugger and Quaxo went on their way. They slunk through the gate by some big pillars into a huge garden. Huge pond. Huge lawn. Huge batches of flowers. Huge trees. And a huge glass building.

Basically, the place was huge.

They took shelter from lingering humans under a green iron table to plot their search. 

"Where to start? Clockwise?" asked Quaxo.

Tugger nodded. "Counter clockwise it is."

It was a nice enough place to run around, at least when the roaming children didn't try to join in. Grass for ages, and a variety of trees to scratch. Even if Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer weren’t there it was going to be a fun day out. 

"Quaxo!" shouted Tugger, halfway up a tree. "Look! Look at that bird! What is that? Is that thing green?! I'm going to eat it."

Quaxo circled the trunk, shaking his head. "Tugger, we're here for a reason."

"It's bright green, Quaxo. What do you think it tastes like?" Tugger wiggled his butt (which didn't hurt at all thanks to Quaxo's magic) to ready a pounce.

"Like a bird?" replied Quaxo. But he'd stopped circling and now his paws rested on the bark. "It's just a lost human pet. I've seen those before in cages."

Tugger pointed to another tree. "But look, there's more over there!" 

"I'm coming up after you," said Quaxo. 

The dumb bird hadn't even moved as Tugger got closer. "If I can catch two we'll eat like kings."

"Tugger."

"I need food, Quaxo." Down below he could see the humans spread out across the field, sitting here and there on blankets eating their own meals. All Tugger had eaten was the milk on the train, now he wanted some bright green bird.

"Tugger!"

"I need food, Quaxo. I'm so hungry." 

The bird turned its head. 

Tugger pounced.

The bird took flight.

Tugger caught the bird.

Tugger missed the branch.

Some kid screamed.

There was a soft fmoomp as the air below Tugger solidified, like some sort of foamy cheap mattress, the sort that'd be torn to shred within an hour of it being dropped at the Junkyard. So instead of Tugger breaking every other bone in his body, he gently plopped onto the grass in a pile of flailing limbs.

Quaxo was really whipping out the spells today.

"Mommy, that cat floated!" cried a child, possibly the screamer.

The mother didn't glance up from her magazine. "That's nice, dear."

Quaxo, however, was paying attention, and he looked livid. "That's twice you've almost died now! In a day!"

Tugger gave the bird a few kicks to make sure it was dead then spat it out. He jumped to his feet, proving he was fine. "That was really, really cool." Did he mean Quaxo's magic or his own catching the bird? He decided to leave it ambiguous. "Do you want some of this?"

But that was when the watching child started screaming about bird murder and they had to run for it.

The child was typical in being both fast and persistent, even with her mother chasing after her. They ran and ran and ran some more. Until finally there was silence.

However, now Tugger had no idea where they were. The trees looked a bit different. The grass was much the same. Some dirt paths. No humans.

He saw more birds in the trees. They were ravens though. Even Tugger didn't mess with ravens.

Quaxo flopped to the ground, breathing a bit heavily. Apparently he was a spinner not a sprinter.

The ravens haw hawed, probably at them. Ravens were dicks.

Tugger re-thought not messing with ravens.

By now the sun was getting a bit lower. As they tried to re-trace their steps they ran into fewer and fewer humans. They'd snuck through a fence to get in, maybe the place was starting to shut down? Humans did like to sleep all night. It was pretty convenient since it left everything open for everyone else.

But they hadn't seen any cats either.

"Hey," Tugger said as they passed another tree. "Maybe you should try spinning around and magic up the direction Rumpleteazer and Mungojerrie are."

Then something wet hit Tugger's nose.

Oh no.

Rain.

Quaxo shot out ahead of him. "The greenhouse is this way!"

Whether it was magic or good memory that was leading Quaxo, Tugger didn't care. A building meant dry.

Didn't it?

*

"It's damp." Tugger was whining. He deserved to be whining. His (normally) gorgeous, densely fluffed coat was not made for a glass maze so hot and wet that the ceiling dripped on them every other step. "If I die go on without me. Save yourself."

They had escaped cold rain for warm damp. The green house was a glass box made for torture. Hundreds of climbable trees with enticing vines, yes, but all of them shrouded in air so thick you could cut it with a knife. Every surface shimmered with moistness. The stone paths were slippery. The pond was tinged green. Tugger longed for death.

And they were locked in.

They'd hid from some humans on their entry, but then those humans had clicked off the lights, and locked the doors behind them.

"Can you magic it?" Tugger had asked.

Quaxo had spun a bit, then flopped to the ground in defeat, his stomach gurgling. "I'm too hungry."

Their search for food had led to naught. Even the pond, although full of strange, giant leaves, had no fish. What was the point of a pond with no fish? This truly was hell.

Tugger had tried nibbling on a few plants but their taste had warned of poison. He'd hacked up a bit, both out of precaution, and vengeance towards the people who'd locked them inside.

After a few circles and an attempt to bodyslam the glass (which ended in Tugger licking his tail and pretending he hadn't bodyslammed the glass at all, what were you talking about, Quaxo, that was crazy talk) they retreated to jump on the giant leaves that bloomed out of the murky pond. 

After that got boring they lay down on them, staring up at the glass ceiling for a while, hearing nothing but the pounding of the rain. Tugger could almost make out the moon through the leaves and the clouds. Almost. 

"The humans will open the doors again tomorrow morning," Quaxo said. "We won't starve." He paused. "Even if it feels like it."

Tugger resolved to keep an eye out for any bugs Quaxo could eat. This many plants in one place had to have something. A spider, a fly, something. He still refused to believe there could be no fish in the pond. "Bleh."

"Skimbleshanks will be waiting for us in the morning, and we haven't found out anything useful about Pouncival, or Bustopher Jones," Quaxo lamented. He was laid out on his back, fluffy belly exposed. 

Tugger really, really wanted to pounce on it. 

After a pause where Quaxo scratched at his ear he continued: "We don't have anything on Bustopher. Nothing at all. And it's like Munkustrap said, at the start. It's a shame, he was so close to going to the heavyside layer. It wouldn’t have been this year, it'll be Gus of course, but soon."

"Should have been Gus last year," Tugger replied before he could stop himself. But at Quaxo's lack of response caution went to the wind. "I'm allowed to say that."

Still no response. 

"I am! She what, comes back, says she's sad and then everything's forgiven." Tugger didn't need to use her name, anyone would know who he meant. (And Quaxo was smarter than anyone, so Tugger doubly didn't need to say her name.) Tugger leapt to his feet, too agitated to remain still even as the leaf wobbled. "If she wanted that then she should have stuck around!"

"You know," the word was drawn out, hesitant. Quaxo was still looking at the moon. "I don't even know what it is she did, to be banished. The elders never told any of us as kittens."

"You heard what those fat club cats said as well as I did," Tugger said.

Quaxo switched to looking at a tree. "They were morons. What did happen?"

"I don't know! I don't even remember her. She was just gone. I was told as much as anyone else and if I asked I got yelled at." Tugger flopped back down. Water sploshed out from under his weight. "So we'll all never know."

"They're still wrong." And Tugger knew who Quaxo meant by 'them'. He wasn't an idiot either, no matter how many cats said he was. Even when Quaxo said it he only meant it as a joke. Probably. "You're nothing like her."

"But you don’t know that. I don't even know that! It's all those old cats that'd know, and that's what they say. And if everyone says something enough, cats start acting like it's the truth so much it might as well be." It was bullshit and suddenly it was very important to Tugger that Quaxo understand it was bullshit. "No one knows anything! It's the same with Bustopher Jones. Just because some cat said he's your father everyone believes it now."

"I believe it," Quaxo said quietly.

"But why?" asked Tugger. "And even if it's true, why does it matter?"

"I don't know," Quaxo replied. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it doesn't matter."

Tugger rolled so he could lean over Quaxo's face. "Did you just agree with me? Are you alright? Has hunger driven you mad?" 

There was a splash.

Quaxo's head turned in time with Tugger's. "Was that a fish?"

And hour and a meal of orange and white fish later, Quaxo again looked thoughtful. Or maybe just full. Either way he said: "I'm not sure you want to hear this, but I wonder if it might be important."

"Okay," said Tugger, now scratching at the end of a giant leaf.

"It's something Victoria told me," Quaxo continued. "About Grizabella."

Tugger stopped. Victoria, she'd been the one to finally touch Grizabella, to bring her back into the tribe for the few minutes before she left again. Tugger had never understood it and remembering it just made him grumpy. "Quaxo, it doesn't matter. We're on the topic of if there are any more fish now."

But Quaxo, like he often did, ignored Tugger. "I asked her why she did it. And you know, Tugger, she said she did it because she didn't understand why Grizabella even came back."

"Well, yeah, she shouldn't have come back. That's what I said like an hour ago."

"No, Victoria said—" Quaxo paused to scratch his ear. "She said, Grizabella was so desperate for the Jellicles to forgive her, but most of us didn't even know why she'd been exiled. We all hated her and didn't even know why."

Tugger knew why, at least in his case. Because she'd left in the first place. The rest didn't matter. Even if Old Deuteronomy had exiled her, told her to leave, then she should have done--

Well, something!

"The older cats just told us to hate her so we did. Victoria said that didn't make sense, so she touched Grizabella."

"The only cats she needed forgiveness from were my brother, dad, and me. She got two out of three. Then she left again. Happy ending," Tugger said. "Quaxo, maybe your sister is just too nice."

Quaxo folded back into himself a bit, and crouched down into the leaf. "Maybe you're right."

"You keep agreeing with me today, it's weirding me out." Tugger put a paw on Quaxo's brow with a tone of levity he didn't really feel. "Are you sick? Is it the damp? It's the damp, isn't it? We need to get out of here."

Quaxo made a grumpy noise but didn't move Tugger's paw. "I just mean... What I meant overall is--what you said before about everyone saying something making it true being dumb. I think you're right."

And what, that meant Tugger should forgive his mother?

"I don't mean you have to forgive Grizabella."

"Quaxo, stop being psychic."

"I'm not psychic, it was just obvious!" Quaxo did shake off Tugger's paw then. "I mean that you’re right to forgive or not if you want to. You shouldn't hate or forgive her just because the other cats say to."

"I have no idea what you mean. I am the best at not doing what other cats say to."

"Does doing the opposite of what you’re told really count?"

Tugger went still. "Uh." Then he fluffed his mane as much as he could in the damp. "Yes."

Quaxo maybe possibly chuckled.

"I live to amuse you," Tugger said. He turned a few circles then lay down beside the other cat. "Okay, you know what? I'll take it. Who cares what the others say! What do they know? If you listen to the gossips I'm--" An illegitimate whore whose real dad was the most evil cat in all of history. "—a slut."

Quaxo made a non-committal noise and started to clean his face.

"It's all lies!" Tugger insisted. "I haven't actually slept with half the Junkyard. I mean, okay, there was Tumblebrutus, and wow he won't let me forget it. And Jenny. And Plato. And Bombalurina, but since Demeter showed up I don't think she even cares if I come around anymore, which ow, my ego. And yeah, there was Tantomile and Coricopat, which by the way was really weird, not sure if I'd recommend—"

"But not actually half the Junkyard," said Quaxo.

Wait, maybe he'd ruined his own point with too much information. "No! I mean—"

"There's nothing wrong with sleeping with half the Junkyard." Quaxo paused. "As long as they know that."

"That's the problem. Everyone knows it." And, he continued over Quaxo's 'that's not what I--' with: "Who am I to do what everyone says? Maybe I should settle down."

Quaxo said nothing. Then he started shaking. Then—

Tugger rocked up onto his feet to better glare down. "Hey! That wasn't a joke!"

Still Quaxo kept laughing although by his hiccupping he seemed to be struggling to stop. "Oh Tugger, only you would chose celibacy because you're too popular."

"I didn’t say celibacy, I said settle down!" Tugger poked Quaxo's stomach. That's what he got for laughing. Poking! "But besides, it's not even new. I've been slowing down in my old age!"

Quaxo swatted back. "You're 3."

So did Tugger, but with more flair. "I'm ancient now! You wouldn't understand, you're so young…"

"I'm 2!" Quaxo again batted.

Wait, where had Tugger been meaning to go with all of this in the start? Oh, right.

"Quaxo, you don't understand!" Tugger took his position to his advantage and lunged at the poorly defended fluffy belly. "I've given up on other cats! I only have eyes for you!"

That was about all the ruckus the giant leaf could take. With a shwoop and a splash Tugger found out just how deep the pond was.

Luckily, not that deep. 

Unluckily, he was still completely soaked, and soaked in gross green plant water.

He hauled himself up and back onto dry land, sploshing more water as he came out.

Quaxo, he saw, was dry.

"What the heck," Tugger said, staring at the completely dry cat. 

Quaxo licked his paw. "You deserve to stay wet for making a joke like that, but I'll take mercy on you." 

Tugger's whiskers trembled and a strange smelling wind came, blowing out his fur. 

"Nice." Tugger did a little twirl for full coverage. It seemed a full belly did indeed fix up Quaxo's magic problems. Soon enough Tugger was dry again. "You may not understand romance, but gotta say, you're a great furdryer. Also: not a joke."

Quaxo glared but maybe, maybe, he also looked a little spooked. "I will push you back in."

"Won't change it not being a joke, and I am bigger than you."

"I will cheat and use magic."

Tugger frowned at that. "No, really. I'm serious! The two of us fit together like some metaphorical thing that fits very well together! It's perfect!"

"Tugger—" But whatever he was going to say was cut off by a crash. And another crash. And some breaking glass. Quaxo turned his head away from Tugger towards the noise. "Oh, there they are."

He ran off.

Tugger shook his fur out again. Licked his mane (and maybe his wounded pride) and followed. He'd have to settle up this thread after they interrogated Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer.

*

"And you really have no idea what Pouncival might have been doing there?" asked Tugger. "Really really?"

Rumpleteazer nodded repeatedly. She was perched on the remains of a pot. Bits of terra cotta and dirt were everywhere. "Really rea—"

"Maybe a little," said Mungojerrie, who sat on the downed palm the pot had been growing.

Rumpleteazer paused, then kept nodding. "Maybe a little."

"Just a bit." 

"Tiny."

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer were some of the only cats that managed to annoy Munkustrap as much as Tugger. They were constantly getting into trouble. Light trouble, but trouble, and they'd talk circles to get themselves out of it.

Sometimes it even worked.

"Pounce was stealing them winkles for Macavity, I'd bet," said Mungojerrie. "They're in season you know."

"Can make a good penny for it."

"We did it last year."

"Don't tell them that part!"

"They already know'd though!"

The two talked so fast that not only couldn't Tugger get a word in (and normally he was pretty good at that) but he managed to lose track of which twin was saying what. "Wait so—"

Quaxo, probably smartly, just let them run their mouths while he caught and ate a bug that had crawled out of the dirt.

"We're out of that game." Mungojerrie desperately gestured, before getting distracted and swatting at the palm's leaves. "We decided to come up here, take in the air. Gaze at the plants. Have you caught any of those green birds? Taste great."

"Etcetera said you broke something and were waiting until the heat was off," said Quaxo, taking advantage of a pause. Or maybe the bug had re-invigorated him.

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer both shrugged. "That too."

"But anyways," Rumpleteazer took up. "For what you want to know, I'd say that since we're out, the gap had to be filled by someone, and Pounce heard it was good pay."

Mungojerrie shook his head, for the first time looking sad about it all. "Bad idea though. The money's great but you can't trust Macavity as a boss, even if you're going through seven middlemen. Besides, after what happened last Ball if anyone found out what he was doing then Pounce could've been kicked out of the Jellicles."

"Is that why you two stopped working for Macavity?" asked Quaxo.

The two gave each other a look. 

"Maybe," they answered at the same 

"Old Deuteronomy wouldn't kick you out," Tugger injected. Hell, Mungojerrie had taken swipes at Macavity when the cat had attacked the last Ball, if he'd needed to prove loyalty, then he'd done it. 

They both looked at each other again, then to Tugger. 

"Ehhh," Rumpleteazer drew out. "But ain't that was happened to Griz? Don't see why we'd be different."

"Yeah, and he was way tighter with her than us. Like you know. 'Tight.'--No offence!" Mungojerrie threw in, looking like he was worried Tugger was going to clock him. He'd probably only remembered that Grizabella was Tugger's mom after most of his words were out. Mungojerrie was a lot of things, but smart was not on the list.

Rumpleteazer maybe had it scribbled near the margin then erased. "And yeah, if rats tried to get ya then that sounds like Macavity too." She paused for a bit. "That really blows, huh?"

A circle of light cut across the glass wall behind them. "Hey! What's all this then?!" said a human voice.

It seemed the humans had finally noticed the ruckus.

As the sounds of the doors unlocking started up, Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer got to their feet and skittered towards some of the slightly tilting palms. 

"Unless you want to run around the rent-a-cop's legs, the exit's this way!" Rumpleteazer called back.

Up on the roof, Tugger was barely able to catch up before the twins began climbing down a pipe. They were almost certainly about to pull a runner.

"Wait!" he yelled. "But what about Bustopher Jones, did he have any connections to Macavity?"

"I dunno!" one of them called back. "He had nothing to do with it far as we knew!"

"See ya!" the other added before disappearing off into dark of the field.

And it was still raining.

There was a raven perched on the roof. It laughed at him.


	6. Chapter 6

Skimbleshanks met them at the station, led them to their car, and once again locked the door behind him. 

Tugger, rallying from the wet horrible night, wanted to go over what they'd learned.

But Quaxo wasn't talking to him.

Quaxo had barely talked to him since they'd fled the glass house for shelter under some tables. 

Quaxo, Tugger had eventually deduced, was pissed. At Tugger.

Normally, Tugger didn't really care if cats were mad at him. But Quaxo was special. That was his whole thing. He was different. Not just the magic. It was some weird loose, wild jumble of attributes Tugger couldn’t list.

And being brushed off was fine, really. It was normal. It was on one of those jumbley things Tugger liked about the other cat. But this was more than a brush off. 

Tugger poked Quaxo in the side. "Hey. I like you. You still like me, right?"

Quaxo pretended to sleep.

Tugger tried to go in for a bit of kneading. "Say you still like me, Quaxo."

Nothing.

If Quaxo was mad, pushing him off the ledge was probably not going to help, so Tugger, with great difficulty, restrained himself (okay, first he huffed a little) then he spent the rest of the ride pawing at a corner in frustration. 

Skimbleshanks didn’t even have time to come by with tea. It was the morning commute or something. So instead of a nice empty compartment to themselves with room service, Tugger and Quaxo were stuck in a luggage compartment and had to dodge the legs of businessmen as they exited. 

And it was still raining.

And they had no idea what to do next.

All they knew was that Pouncival had probably been working for Macavity stealing winkles. Which meant Macavity was probably behind his murder. Which meant there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it.

And what did any of it have to do with Bustopher Jones?

No clue.

And what even was a winkle?

Also no clue. Tugger kept forgetting to ask. Now Quaxo didn't even want to talk to him, so Tugger would have to bother someone else. But he didn't want to. He wanted to go eat breakfast with Quaxo and not have the other cat act like he was going to ditch Tugger at any moment.

An unsatisfactory morning in every way.

But maybe, if he played it right, he could get Quaxo to stop being weird around him to go get breakfast. Maybe he wasn't mad. Maybe he was just hungry again. What did people call it? Hangry?

It was a bit, late but the fish market would still be open for the tourists to take pictures of for a little while-- 

"Wait a minute," he said, grabbing Quaxo by the tail just as the other cat was about to slip off down an alley. "Winkles! That's it!"

Quaxo pulled his tail free, still eying the shadows of the alley. "What?"

"Quaxo, what the heck is a winkle? Seafood, right? Stupid fancy seafood?"

Quaxo looked at him as if he were crazy but that was normal, and it meant the cat was looking at him so it was also a win. "It's a type of shellfish, yes."

Tugger slung a paw around Quaxo's shoulder, turning them in the right direction to walk. "Then I know exactly where to go next: let's get breakfast at the fish market!"

*

It was late. At least for the fishermen. So when they got to the huge cavernous building the fish market resided in most humans were starting to pack up. The floor had that funky fish juice smell it had before the concrete was sprayed down for the day, boxes of Styrofoam lay everywhere, some tourists wandered about being a nuisance, but, there were still a few fish here and there unattended and ripe for snatching. 

Quaxo got a few good morsels with charm and magic, while Tugger employed the classic 'grab it and run for his life.'

"Stop that damn cat!" some guy yelled as Tugger bolted out the door. The door guard however, Tugger knew, was soft on cats. He pretended to see nothing.

"You're going to get caught someday," Quaxo said with a shake of his head when they were safely under the building. "They'll bean you with a box and that will be the last of The Rum Tum Tugger."

"They love me," Tugger said around a mouthful of salmon. "They yell for show, but they all love me. I'll have a statue one day."

"And it will be inscribed 'that damn cat who made us fail health inspection.'" But when Quaxo shook his head it was in a fond way, totally. Tugger's plan had been a resounding success. Quaxo circled about for a minute then settled on a hunk of concrete. "All right, Tugger, since you're the cat of the market, where does one find the illegal winkle trading?"

"Well." Tugger swatted away the carcass. "Most black market icy hand of death business probably happens in the middle of the night, not in the middle of the morning."

"That's unfortunately probable—"

"But, you've just eaten a whole side of trout, and have magic!"

"It's not that I don't appreciate your excessive confidence in my abilities, I do. But just because you believe I can do something doesn't make it true," said Quaxo.

"Why not? It's magic. I've heard your human natter on about it to customers. Belief is how human magic works. Believe a thing hard enough: bam, it happens! And I've seen you use human magic, that's how you stole my balls." And with magic magic he'd burned rats, and healed Tugger's bum, and gotten directions, and—

Really, the list was so long and varied that Tugger didn’t understand why they kept having this conversation. By his measure, Quaxo could do anything.

"I didn't—" Quaxo scratched at his ears then settled. "That's not the point. Most of the time it just happens when it needs to, I can't just whip it up—"

"But we do need it. Come one! Try it, conjure up an informant!" Tugger said. "If you don't try then you can't prove me wrong, which means I'm right, which mean you can do it."

Quaxo's head had been wobbling along to Tugger's words like he was watching a drunk fly. "I… what?"

"Try it! Don't make me start singing."

Quaxo smiled at him and oh no, there was another jumbly thing. "But I like your singing."

"And I like it when you're not going on about how you can't do anything, really, it's getting kinda boring, the same thing over and over—" Tugger cut himself off as Quaxo retracted.

"I'm not boring," Quaxo said, quickly. "You're boring."

Tugger swatted at Quaxo's paw. "You're borringer." 

Quaxo swatted back. "That's not even a word!"

Tugger pounced, a little, just enough to get Quaxo to move. "It's one now. I invented it!"

They tussled for aminute or so, but not with claws out or anything. Just a nice old post-meal excerise rumble. Very important for digestion.

"Maybe you're right," Quaxo said after extracting himself, breathing heavily.

Tugger resisted his first impulse of asking if Quaxo had hit his head during the fight. He wanted Quaxo agreeing with him. Right? Maybe? Probably? He had at some point. Wait. "What am I right about?"

"At the Ball, it wasn't just the magic in the moon, I was able to be a whole different cat. Not Quaxo, trying to prove he could do something and being laughed at, but the magical Mr. Mistoffelees, who was actually able to do it." Quaxo circled around on the rough concrete slab. "Everyone saw, and that was great, but then… Then everything went back to normal as if nothing had ever happened!"

Tugger let Quaxo stomp around a bit, unsure of how to parse all of that. Tugger had thought it'd gone pretty great and if no one else thought Quaxo was cool now, well then they were dumb and didn't matter. Obviously.

"I wish I could be Mr. Mistoffelees all the time but—"

"Why not?" Tugger interrupted. "I can start calling you that. Although I'm warning you it's going to get abbreviated. Have you ever noticed how many people forget the 'The' in my name? It's like I don't even have it sometimes. Do you want to go with Mr. Mistoffelees or really trick it out with Magical Mr. Mistoffelees?"

"That's not what I—I can't just—" Quaxo paused to clean his face. Then he tilted his head in that way that to anyone else would look innocent but Tugger knew it meant he was about to get burned. "Does this mean I should be calling you The Rum Tum Tugger?"

Tugger shrugged, graciously letting Quaxo change the subject (for now). "Oh no, you don't have to do that, you're special."

"I'm special." The words came out oddly toned and Quaxo seemed lost in thought again.

"Of course," Tugger replied. "Not just any cat could steal my heart!"

"That again," said Quaxo, voice souring. "It's not funny. I know you think it's a joke but—"

"It's not a joke!" said Tugger.

Quaxo only frowned at the ground. Not even at Tugger! At the ground! "It certainly doesn't fit into the rest of your behaviour."

"What? Of course it does." Who did Tugger follow around all the time? Quaxo. Who did he drag out for breakfast? Quaxo. Who did he have deep conversations on the meanings of names with? Quaxo. He'd eaten, slept by, and followed around Quaxo for over forty-eight hours now and not gotten bored. That was a record for any cat. 

"I'm not exactly the only cat you show interest towards," replied Quaxo.

"Do you mean the flirting?" Tugger shrugged. "That's for fun, Quaxo. It doesn't mean anything, everyone knows that."

There was a long silence.

"You know that, right?"

Quaxo didn't respond, but his tail was going a mile a minute.

"I mean, it's fun. All that. It's for fun." 

Still nothing.

"You should try it sometime—"

"You're only interested in me," Quaxo said, judgementally rolling his eyes, which was definitely a step in the right direction. "But also I should try flirting with cats other than you?"

"Well—"

Then Quaxo smiled. A sly smile. A conspiratorial smile. "Actually, for you that makes a strange amount of sense." 

Tugger reached out, and when he put an arm on Quaxo's shoulder it wasn't shrugged off. "We can flirt with random cats with no intentions to act on it together!"

Quaxo hummed for a second, almost a purr. He didn't slide out from Tugger's arm at least. "Perhaps we should find the illegal winkles first."

Ugh, another change of topic? Fine, he could let it go. For Quaxo. That right there proved how special he was.

"Okay, fine. I guess." Tugger conceded (for now) and detached himself. Then he made as dramatic a flourish as he could muster. "Magic it up, Mr. Mistoffelees!"

Quaxo went very still, he scrunched his face up like he'd been offered the wrong treat. He might have glittered a bit, or that was the reflection of the water.

Tugger nodded along, expectant.

Kept nodding.

Quaxo opened one eye. "Has anything happened?"

"I think you maybe glittered," said Tugger. "It looked really cool. Try spinning."

Quaxo slumped to the ground, but then rallied, pushing himself back to his paws as his tail whipped about. "Can I get away with blaming the rain?"

Okay, well, it had been worth a shot. Except that shot had backfired and exploded his paw. The problem with hype was that if it flopped, it flopped hard.

Tugger struggled to come up with a way to turn this around. (Maybe suggest to wander around? More fish? Face licking?) Then--

"What are you two doing down here?" came a familiar voice.

Tugger bounced up onto his paws and turned to see Cassandra slink down a boulder towards them. She tilted her head as she looked from Tugger to Quaxo, who was looking vaguely contemplative now. (Or he had indigestion.)

"Cassandra," said Tugger. "Where does a cat go for some illegal winkles?"

She frowned. "What's a winkle?" 

Now it was Tugger's turn to slump. But he made it look good at least. Not that Quaxo didn't look good, but he'd look better un-slumped.

"I was actually looking for you." Cassandra said. "Jellylorum told me about you finding Pouncival at the Sage and Screen and I was thinking you should ask Tumblebrutus about him."

"We already did," replied Quaxo. "Tumblebrutus said he had no idea what Pouncival was doing at the Stage and Screen. He'd been going out alone lately."

At this Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "That doesn't make sense. The reason I thought you should ask Tumblebrutus is because the night Bustopher Jones was killed, I saw Pouncival and him heading towards St James Street."

*

"They could have split up afterwards," Tugger tried to argue, but it was with himself as much as Quaxo.

"Maybe," was all Quaxo replied. He was back to not being talkative, although now it was because he was short of breath. The run from the fish market to the Junkyard wasn't a quick one.

"Even if he lied to us—"

"He did lie to us." (There were a few pauses to breathe in there.)

"Okay so then—That doesn't mean—" Tugger slowed a bit to keep pace with Quaxo. "Tumblebrutus is--was—Pounce's best friend. He wouldn't kill him!"

"Maybe," Quaxo repeated. "But Macavity is involved in this. He does things to cats."

They reached the alleyway that led to the Junkyard and paused. No cats were around, likely due to the rain. It was coming down in sheets now. Tugger was already so soaked to the bone shaking himself did nothing to help it. Tugger and Quaxo crawled under the broken down car and caught their breath.

"So what now?" asked Tugger. "Check the van? Should we get Munkustrap? Maybe we should get Munkustrap. Do we have enough authority to arrest a Jellicle? Do we need authority to arrest a Jellicle?"

"We may need more cats to arrest a Jellicle," said Quaxo. "If it comes to a physical confrontation—"

"Tugger?" came a muffled voice.

There was a thump from above. Then another. Then Sillabub slunk down under the car with them. 

"Oh! It is you, good!" Sillabub was one of the smallest kittens Tugger had known. Even months after her birth she'd barely grown. She moved past Quaxo and made an abortive attempt to pounce Tugger, but jerked back with a frown when she just got wet herself. "You're soaked!"

"It's raining," replied Quaxo, getting her attention.

She nodded at that, she was always a fairly agreeable cat. "Then come up in the car; it's a lot dryer."

"What are you doing out here?" asked Tugger, trying not to be stung by rejection when there were more important thing happening. Yes, he was soaked, but he was still touchable. The insult. 

She looked a little sheepish. "The rain looked neat so I snuck out. But then it rained more! Too much! And then there were rats running around. So I've been in the car."

"Rats?" asked Tugger. That was a bad sign. A really really bad sign.

"Big gross black and red ones, like at the Ball last year," Sillabub replied. "But the car's safe. Come on." She wiggled her butt for them to follow her.

"Sillabub," said Quaxo quickly. "Have you seen Tumblebrutus today?"

"Or Munkustrap," added Tugger, both because they needed to find him, and because his brother would probably have a conniption at Sillabub being out alone in the pouring rain with the junkyard full of rats.

"Tumble? Yeah he just ran toward the van. I was gonna go follow him but with this rain I think I'd drown on the way." She tilted her head. "I haven't seen Munkustrap but if there's rats he's chasing after them, right?"

Which was probably right. That was going make finding him even more fun.

"So he's at the van," Quaxo mumbled. "But for how long?"

A flood, rats everywhere, and Tumblebrutus could bolt. It didn't look great.

Tugger tried to fluff his mane, but it was too sodden. "Okay. I have a plan. Quaxo, you go with Sillabub and get Munkustrap, and I'll go trap Tumblebrutus in the van."

"That's a terrible plan!" replied Quaxo. "You’re not going anywhere alone."

"It is not!" Tugger said. "Look, we know where the van is but not Munkustrap. But you can magic up directions—"

"Tugger I can't just magic up anything you want me to!" Quaxo said. "We had this argument an hour ago!"

"Yeah and I won it," replied Tugger, because he had.

"Wait. Why are we getting Munkustrap?" Sillabub interrupted. "Why are we trapping Tumblebrutus?"

"You're not doing either," replied Tugger. "You're going with Quaxo."

She frowned. "Ugh, I'm not a kitten anymore. I can go find Munkustrap for you! Then you two can go to the van together to do whatever it is you are doing."

"The rats are bigger than you and you don't have magical directions," said Tugger.

"I don't have magical directions," said Quaxo.

Tugger turned to Sillabub. "Sillabub, does Quaxo have magical directions?"

She tilted her head again. "If he wants to hard enough."

"What."

"And can you run faster than Quaxo?" asked Tugger.

"I am right here—"

"Yeah, Quaxo is slow," replied Sillabub, eyes wide as she started to catch on.

"Right. Here."

Tugger put a paw on her tiny shoulder and tried to look authoritative. "Then, Sillabub, I'm charging you with the very important task of making sure Quaxo isn't eaten by rats while he searches for Munkustrap. Are you up for this escort mission?"

"The rats are bigger than her," Quaxo grumbled, but when Sillabub turned to him with her face set in seriousness he backed up a little. "Sillabub—"

"Quaxo, if we meet up with anything nasty on the way I'm going to need you to stay behind me, okay?"

"Tugger—" Quaxo tried. 

"Have fun!" Tugger winked, then escaped into the sheets of rain. Sure it left him alone to face a possible murderer but if Macavity rats were running around then the kitten wasn't nearly as safe in the car as she'd thought. Tugger knew from experience that the door locks didn't work. If they wanted in, they'd get in.

Besides. One, they didn't know if Tumblebrutus really was the killer (even if everything pointed to him being involved) and two, Tugger's plan was to just trap the cat in the van. He didn't even have to go inside. Even if he'd probably want to if the rain didn't let up.

The ground was becoming slush now. Muddy, gross. Bleh. At least the van wasn't far.

Tugger gave it a circle or two, hearing nothing coming from inside. But, the rain was pounding the metal enough to make a racket. There could have been an orgy going on and Tugger wouldn't have heard it.

He crept up and pressed a nose to the driver side window. Darkness. Condensation.

Maybe some movement?

Okay.

Someone or something was probably in there.

Struggling in the mud Tugger shoved some junk in front of the drivers and passengers side doors. Then the back door. 

Now all that was left was the windows.

But he didn't have anything tall enough. And he was cold. And wet.

Also slightly hungry.

He had really thought Quaxo would get other cats by this point.

For a bit he huddled under the van. But unlike the car there was a dip in the ground, and rain pooled in a mucky wet puddle. 

Bleh.

He still wasn't sure Tumblebrutus was even in the van.

Maybe he should look? Just a peek? Maybe slide into the front seat via the window? Maybe look over the back of the seat and—

Oh, there he was.

"Tugger?" Tumblebrutus jumped back from rummaging through a bag. "What are you doing here?"

Tugger shook himself off. Then replied: "Why are you never happy to see me anymore? I thought we were friends."

"We—" Tumblebrutus hesitated, looking at the bag. "We are friends."

"Really? How about you and Pouncival. Friends?"

"Yes." The word was sharp. "Why are you here, Tugger?"

Tugger shrugged. "Just trying to get dry. It's raining sheets out there."

"Where's Quaxo?" Tumblebrutus asked. 

Tugger shrugged again. "Had to take Sillabub somewhere safe. There's rats running around. What the heck have things come to?"

"Rats," Tumblebrutus repeated.

"Tumble, you’re weirdly quiet today," Tugger edged over the top of the carseat. "What's wrong, cat got your tongue?"

Tumblebrutus humphed and everything was, for a second, normal again. "That's a terrible joke."

"Yeah, well, it's a terrible day." With one arm over and the rest of him safely behind a slab of metal and stuffing, Tugger pressed his luck. "So, were where the night Pouncival died anyway? Cause Cassandra said she saw the two of you together."

And Tugger really, really wished that Tumnblebrutus looked surprised at that, denied it, got mad even, but instead he just looked past Tugger, behind him.

Tugger wasn't so much as shoved over the edge of the carseat but pulled and slammed at the same time, with air at smelled like Quaxo but rotten, and burnt. 

He scrambled to get back to his feet only to get hit again, and when he managed to get his back to the door, shoving it enough to know it wasn't going to open because he'd done too good a job with the boxes—

His mind was a sting of shitshitshitshits, because he wasn't as dumb as everyone said, he didn't need to get a look to know what this meant.

Besides, Tumble yelped the answer out anyways. "Macavity!"

There was a brief moment where Tumble could have redeemed himself but instead he then said: "What are you doing here? You said—"

Well heck, Tugger thought as he got kicked again and fell into darkness. Being wrong really did suck.


	7. Chapter 7

Buy the lack of feeling in his stomach, Tugger would have bet it was the kicking that brought him back to consciousness.

"Ow," he said, rummaging up a glare. Then, when that elicited no response: "Ow!"

Macavity didn't really take up the whole back end of the van, it just felt like it. Tugger hadn't gotten a close look the last time. He'd been a bit busy to grab Quaxo (which, where the hell was Quaxo?) and wow did Macavity not look any better close up. Bright red, un-groomed, fluffy, and some serious facial scaring was the main impression. Also, large.

But, Macavity being here shoved all the pieces together.

"So, think you figured it all out, do you?" Macavity snarled.

"Yeah, probably." Tugger rolled a bit to hid his poor tender underparts. Made an attempt to stand. Gave up. "Tumblebrutus and Pouncival were stealing winkles to sell to your gang, and then you killed Pounce and Bustopher Jones." 

Macavity laughed. Or barked. Something in between. "I didn't kill either of them, your little friend cowering in the corner did."

Tugger gave the cat a shocked glance. "Tumble?!"

"It—" The cat clawed at the floor. "I didn't want to! Pounce was going to bolt after Jones found out we were selling to Macavity—"

Anger spiked in Tugger, enough to override the danger he was in. Enough to ignore the giant red cat with supernatural powers in front of him to glare at the small, cowering near-kitten. "So what? So you killed them?!"

Tumblebrutus slumped to the floor. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Pathetic isn't it? And now I have to drag myself over to clean up the mess." Macavity slashed the air near Tumblebrutus. "But then, I have been wanting to visit the dear little cats again. You were all so interesting at last year's Ball."

Munkustrap had once explained the really difficulty in fighting Macavity wasn't physical. He was strong, sure, but the problem was that he got into your head. Hypnotism. Magic. Whatever. You just couldn't act when you needed to. Think like you had to.

Tugger bumped into the van's back door. 

Now, Tugger knew he could sometimes have an inflated sense of his abilities. But he also knew, 100% certainly, that there was no way he was going to win a fight against Macavity. Not while half drowned in a van, and not with a potential second cat ready to claw him in the back.

Then again, Tugger didn't have to beat Tumblebrutus, or Macavity, he just had to not die long enough for Munkustrap and Quaxo to show up. 

Not dying for a few minutes was a much more reasonable goal. (Tugger could be reasonable! Really!)

Macavity grinned, toothy and feral. "Oh? You think you can manage that? Wait around for someone else to save you like always?"

Yeah, so what if he was trapped in a van with the most evil cat in history? Who could also apparently read minds? Totally fine. Completely.

"Your plan for victory is to simply wait here lying to yourself until you're saved by your precious Quaxo?" Macavity's smile almost swallowed his face. "Or is the little thing going by Mr. Mistoffelees now? I admit I would like to have a rematch."

"Hey! You stay away from him!"

"But I thought your whole plan involved leading him to me?" Macavity said. "Rum Tum Tugger, I don't think you've thought this through. I'm quite disappointed. You could have inherited some brains."

Nuts to it. Talking to Macavity was pointless. Tugger looked over the cat's shoulder to where Tumblebrutus cowered by the steering wheel. "This is the guy you've thrown your lot in with, Tumble? Really? This asshole?"

"It's too late now," Tumblebrutus whined.

Tugger fluffed his mane as much as he could while sodden, and completely ignored Macavity to stare a hole in Tumblebrutus. "Not really, we might be able to take hi—"

Macavity sucker punched Tugger.

Ow. Tugger had to think it rather than say it as he had trouble getting air to re-enter his body. 

How demoralizing, getting beat up in the back of a van while a cat he'd thought was his friend just watched and did nothing out of fear. If he really did die this way he'd never live it down. 

"Poor little Rum Tum Tugger." Macavity growled. "You put far too much faith in that Quaxo. You really think he'll get you out of this? He can barely do anything!"

Tugger smelled something then. A sort of burnt smell, but one that sparkled. 

"Maybe," Tugger said, grinning. "But The Magical Mister Mistoffelees can do anything!"

And he fell through a hole in the floor.

*

Tugger landed with a hard thump on a blanket that was probably meant to help cushion his fall but did nothing.

"Tugger!" said Munkustrap, suddenly right up in his face. 

"Sorry, but please move." That was Jellylorum. She placed her paws on Tugger's side. "Let's see what's broken."

"Every bone is broken, ow," said Tugger, wiggling in pain under her paws.

"Don't make me drop you at the vet," she threatened. "They'll fix you well enough but then they'll 'fix' you."

"Munkustrap, save me."

Munkustrap gave a sigh, but it sounded like a relieved sigh. "If he can joke, then he's fine."

Ah, his ribs! Ah, his stomach! Ah, his everything! "I could joke on my deathbed, don't try me."

The sigh turned resigned. "True."

While Jellylorum continued to knead Tugger's internal organs, he took a look around. Oh, he'd landed in Munkustrap's shed. Well, his family's shed, but Munkustrap had all but taken the place over. Blankets, a pillow or two, other offerings from the humans, it all filled the space between gardening implements.

"You're tender but going to live," was Jellylorum's eventual pronouncement. "The ribs will be bruised, and putting weight on your back legs is going to go poorly for a few days. I'd order bedrest but then you'd be out on the street in minutes."

"I could do it." Except he couldn't, not just because he truly felt like shit, but because Munkustrap was now half on top of him, holding him down.

"Oh he'll stay here," Munkustrap said. "Or else."

Jellylorum gave Tugger a look, the 'I would love to lecture you' look. But then she smiled. Probably because she knew what Tugger knew: that Munkustrap was about to bite Tugger's head off the moment they were left alone. 

As soon as the door was shut behind her, his older brother started in. "What were you thinking facing Macavity alone?!"

Tugger shrugged, sort of. His shoulder was a bit wonky. "It worked out. The magic portal thing was neat. Where's Quaxo?"

"Quaxo," and Munkustrap said the name with some consternation. "Is flat passed out in my family's living room after pulling that off without the Jellicle Moon. I believe the children have named him Henry. They're going to have a fit when he leaves."

Well that was a situation Tugger would need to investigate immediately. He made to move, but his brother shoved him back down onto the blankets. "Ow, hey, no manhandling the injured cat!"

"You are staying in here," said Munkustrap. "Until Jellylorum says you've healed."

Ugh, that was too terrible to imagine. So Tugger didn't, and changed the subject. "Well did you checkout the van at least? I did an amazing job with the boxes if I don't say so myself."

"Tumblebrutus was inside, but no Macavity." Munkustrap frowned. "But that's no surprise."

"And Tumblebrutus," Tugger asked. "Did he uh—?"

"He confessed, and he's still locked in there. He said that he and Pouncival had been stealing winkles to sell to an illegal broker. Bustopher Jones got them in and out of the club for a cut of the seafood. But when Bustopher Jones realised that they were selling to Macavity, he wanted out, which led to Pouncival wanting out." Munkustrap humpfed in distain. "Tumblebrutus claims he panicked."

Panicked, yeah that was going to work as a defense. 'Oh no, Munkustrap, I was so scared that I murdered two cats including my best friend forever, please forgive me!'

By the way Munk's claws went in and out it hadn't worked. 

"Old Deuteronomy will be arriving tomorrow and will pronounce judgement," said Munkustrap. "I imagine Tumblebrutus will be banished, and then, well, who knows what will happen to him."

"What if he just runs off to Macavity?" asked Tugger. 

"He might, if he's stupid." Munkustrap removed himself from Tugger's person to plop down on the edge of the blanket. Although he didn't look it, if he'd been running around all night he was probably as close to conking out as Tugger was. "But then I guess he was never who I thought in the first place. Him, Pouncival, and Bustopher Jones even. It's strange to believe it."

Tugger snorted "You and me both."

"Well, it's Macavity, who knows what really happened." Munkustrap shook his head. Then he made to push himself back up. "Good to see you're not dead. I'd best be back out there."

"Munk, go have a damn nap!" Tugger called after him, but Munkustrap made no indication of hearing

*

Old Deuteronomy dropped by, checked on Tugger, banished Tumblebrutus. Left.

Tugger remained locked in the shed for his (supposed) own good.

"Am I seriously stuck in this shed forever?" Tugger whined at his brother that afternoon.

Munkustrap had only stopped by to deliver food. Because apparently Tugger wasn't allowed to go get his own. No, Tugger was consigned to shed-jail for the crime of solving a murder mystery and catching the killer! 

"If you keep making a fuss, yes," replied Munkustrap. "And remember, this shed locks from the outside."

"Munk," he finally pleaded "Munk, I can't stay in here. I need to poop. Don't make me poop in your family's shed."

Munkustrap cautiously eyed him, but the danger won out. "Alright, but then—"

"Freedom!" Tugger yelled as he bolted out of the yard. He ran over the grass, under the fence, across the lane, and to the nicely clean and rain-washed Junkyard before the horrible pain started.

His run petered out into a limp. Jellylorum had been right (the horror) about the legs. It was all he could manage to drag himself into the oven, and there Quaxo found him.

"You have no sense of self preservation," Quaxo said, head barely poking in, form tense like he'd flee at any second.

"I'm fine," Tugger replied. "Just a bit winded, but fine."

There was a pause. Tugger let it play out for a moment. Then he got bored. "So are you done avoiding me or what? Look, I know you're a bit miffed but we solved the mystery so go team—"

"Of course I'm miffed!" Quaxo stomped back into the clearing. "You weren’t supposed to go inside the van!"

Now Tugger could have hedged, asked 'why do you think I went in the van, what if Macavity yanked me in there?' or some such nonsense. But Quaxo was not an idiot and Tugger liked him, so Tugger didn't bother attempting a lie. "It was really wet outside."

Quaxo shook his head. "You could have died!"

"I could have died from the cold, too?" 

"This was the third time in less than twenty four hours, Tugger."

"Good thing you were around to save my ass again," said Tugger before adding: "My wonderful, shapely ass."

Quaxo's mouth tic'd up, a little. A tiny bit. But also his ears went back. "And if I wasn't?"

"But—" Tugger leaned forward, earnest. "You always are."

Quaxo made a strangled noise. Then he ran back up and into the oven. Before Tugger could act all of Quaxo's weight dropped onto Tugger, pinning him further. "Jellylorum said you needed rest and now you've run away from the sick bed, so I'm not moving until you go to sleep. You’d best get started."

"Telling me to sleep. Quaxo, you really think that will work?" Tugger struggled, but didn't make any headway. Ugh, it was possible that he was actually really truly injured. Really. "I will stay up forever."

"Fine, stay up forever," said Quaxo.

"I am a little tired," Tugger conceded. "A tiny bit. I could deign to lay quietly if you stay on top of me."

Quaxo hmm'd. Maybe it was a purr even.

Tugger dug himself a bit deeper into the blanket. "I should have known you'd prefer being on top."

Quaxo made a noise that a first suggested he was going to be pissed, but then it settled. "Yes, you should have. Now stay still, you're a complete mess and I suppose it's up to me to deal with it."

"What would I do without you?" Tugger asked.

"Die, apparently," answered Quaxo, but he didn't sound angry, so Tugger took it as a win.

And with that Tugger slipped into nice, comfortable sleep as Quaxo started grooming his ruff.


End file.
